ed sad havoc with
the little craft. Seams were starting, ribs were bulging, and there were
gaping holes, that made Coomber lift his hat and scratch his head in
consternation.

"This'll be a tough job, Bob," he said.

"Aye, aye, dad, it will that," said the lad, carefully passing his
finger down where one rib seemed to be almost rotten.

A few months before Coomber would have raved and blustered, and sworn it
was all Bob's fault, but since that tea-meeting at Fellness he had been
a changed man--old things had passed away, and all things had become
new; and none felt this more than Bob. It was a blessed change for him,
and he had given up all thoughts of running away now, if the old boat
could only be patched up and made serviceable. But it was a problem
whether this could ever be done effectually enough to make it seaworthy.

"If I'd only found out ten years ago that I could do better without the
whisky than with it, we might ha' got a new boat afore this, Bob," said
the fisherman, with a sigh.

"Aye, aye, and had Jack with us, too, dad," Bob ventured to remark. He
had not dared to mention his brother's name for years, but he had
thought a good deal of him lately, wishing he could come home, and see
the blessed change that had been wrought in his father.

The old fisherman lifted his head, and there was a look of bitter
anguish in his face, as he said: "Hark ye, lad, I'd give all the days of
my life to bring Jack back. The thought of him is making yer mother an
old woman afore her time, and I can't help it now; it's too late, too
late;" and the old fisherman covered his face and groaned.

"There now, father, ain't I heard you say it was never too late to
repent?"

"Aye, lad, that you have, and the precious blood of Christ can take away
the guilt of our sin; but, mark me, not even God Himself can do away
with the consequences of sin. Hard as they may be, and truly and
bitterly as we may repent, the past can't be undone; and as we sow we
must reap. Poor Jack! Poor Jack! If I could only know where he was. Why,
it's nigh on ten years since he went away, and never a storm comes but
I'm thinking my boy may be in it, and wanting help."

Bob recalled what had passed on Fellness Sands the night they rescued
Tiny, and which had helped him often since to bear with his father's
gruff, sullen ways and fierce outbursts of temper; but he would not say
any more just now, only he thought that but for that tea-meeting his
fathe